Vulnerable
by Kishoto
Summary: The final scene from alexanderwales' Metropolitan Man, retold from Superman's POV.


"Mercy, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Th-"

Th. A common consonant digraph. It could be used to begin many words. The question was just what word Luthor was choosing to say. Thread. Threaten. Though. Through.

Clark had slipped into his accelerated perception from the moment he'd felt the sliver of radiation penetrate the room when Ms. Graves started to open the door. He spent over fifteen minutes contemplating various plans of action, before deciding on holding Luthor hostage.

He could've easily thrown something, slamming the door shut, but that would've been a temporary solution at best. Especially if there was some sort of mechanism hidden in all this lead shielding that would allow the woman to get access to the study through some other method. Going through the wall would've been trivially easy, but Superman didn't think it would look good if he tore a hole in Metropolis' most prominent businessman's house. Especially so soon after killing Calhoun.

Keeping a grip on Luthor would cause her to act cautiously. When she'd fully opened the door, he felt the waves of radiation wash over him and showed no discomfort, despite the fact that he felt the weakness starting to encroach on him. It wouldn't be noticeable to anyone other than himself, but he could feel the solar energy stored within him start to be supplanted by the cancerous radiation from the shard of Krypton.

"-row the-"

He was telling her to throw it. The question was where. If Luthor was smart, he'd be telling her to throw it behind her. Out of the room. Then to step inside, so he could ensure there weren't any other threats to his person. But even that was no guarantee. For all his conversing, he still felt as if Luthor hadn't fully submitted. Like he was holding something else in reserve, although what that could be was anyone's guess.

Clark contemplated holding his mouth shut there and warning him that any trickery would put both his blood and Ms. Graves' blood on his hands, but he was concerned that a hostile move on his part would make her take action. And he had no interest in killing people who seemed to have humanity's best interests at heart. If Luthor's reasoning was to be believed, that is. And while Clark didn't have all of the information he needed, he had more than enough to determine that the only conceivable reason Luthor would expend the amount of resources he had on pursuing his death was for the preservation of humanity's best interests, or at least what he thought them to be. They'd have more than enough time to compare views once this situation was dealt with.

"-kryptonite-"

Huh. An appropriate name, he supposed. He certainly hadn't come up with anything better. He'd just taken to thinking of it by its Kryptonian name, although his grasp of the language was tenuous at best, so calling it Kryptonite was a whole lot easier.

"towar-"

He could only be saying towards. Presumably towards him. Clark toyed with the idea that he was saying something like "towards the outside of the study" but he knew that was unlikely at best. A quick glance at and through Luthor confirmed the man was tense, but resigned. You wouldn't guess he was risking his life if you looked at his face alone, but there were certain signs you could look for throughout the rest of the body. And all the signs pointed to Luthor gearing up to take some sort of risk. He knew Superman would honor his word. So he could only be looking to do something that would constitute breaking his.

Having his assistant throw a chunk of Kryptonite at him would most certainly be in that vein. Clark thought about just snapping Luthor's neck before crushing the impulse. Even if he'd actually wanted to, he'd then either have to kill Ms. Graves, who didn't seem to be much more than an accessory, or let her go and tell the world about how Superman had murdered upstanding businessman Alexander Luthor.

It was regrettable, but Clark would just have to exit through the wall. The questions it would raise were much preferable to dealing with this much Kryptonite in this small a space. While he was relatively certain he could get out of this situation unscathed, moving and reacting at the necessary speeds in this small a space would endanger both Luthor and Mercy. Once he was a few hundred feet away and not surrounded by lead, he'd be freer to act.

He released Luthor and leapt backwards, smashing through the wall at an arc that would place him a few hundred feet in the air, well out of the range of anything Luthor could've possibly prepared. He felt the wood paneling crumble, followed soon by the lead plates and that's when he felt the sickly radiation. He frantically tried to change his direction, but realized he'd just be diving back into the study, at the mercy of Luthor and whatever kryptonite contingencies he had in that lead lined desk of his.

He tried to force more acceleration into his chosen vector, but he could feel the radiation seeping into his body, supplanting the solar energy that gave him his incredible power. The way Kryptonite radiation affected his physiology was remarkably similar to cancer, albeit in energy form. The radiation was readily absorbed by his cells and metastasized throughout the solar energy stores he'd amassed, making them useless and incompatible with his powers. It also took a while to bleed the radiation out, meaning that absorbing new solar energy was a slow, cumbersome process until it was all vented.

If he'd put more power into the initial leap, it wouldn't have mattered. The momentum would've sent him high and far, miles away from Luthor's abode. By the time he got anyone out there, Superman would be back on his feet, albeit supremely weakened. But he'd have more than enough strength to get away and recoup.

As it was, Superman felt himself get a few feet away in the air before hitting the ground, hard. As he slid, rocks and foliage tore at him, rending holes in his costume and his now vulnerable flesh. He felt each jarring thud as the laws of physics treated his body to the sort of punishment you got if you threw yourself through a wall without being invincible. For the first time in his life, the Man of Steel bled.

As he rolled to a stop, Clark laid there, stunned. His face was pushed into the dirt and his breathing was shallow, impeded by the soil around his face. A rock was digging painfully into his side, and his arm was wedged awkwardly beneath him.

All in all, he wasn't in a lot of pain, but for someone who understood physical pain more as an abstract concept than a real thing, it was enough to leave him breathless and immobile. He tried to get his limbs to respond, but they were unresponsive, the kryptonite radiation clogging every one of their fibers.

He felt the rays of the sun on him, slowly clearing away the toxin in his body, but he needed a handful of seconds to get anywhere near mobile. Seconds he didn't have.

He heard the distant sound of a drawer opening, followed by running. Expensive shoes on turf and soil.

He struggled to turn over, to move his arm, to speak. ANYTHING. But his body laid stubborn, refusing to listen to anything he was saying. He heard the running stop and heard the click of the hammer of the gun. He couldn't see it, but he could feel the kryptonite radiating from its chambers.

He wanted to scream, to plead with Luthor to not do this. To beg for his life. At this point, he'd offer him almost anything to spare him. He'd bring him the Moon, if he wanted.

For the first time, Clark Kent felt the real, visceral fear that those he couldn't save must have felt. That impending knowledge that you were in danger, your life was in peril. That you were utterly helpless before what was about to befall you. Weak. Defenseless.

For the first time, Clark could say he felt truly and honestly hu-


End file.
